Jet's Lament
by EdwardWongHauPepiluTivriskyIV
Summary: Sometimes you just have to wear the suit...


Nothing ever changes anymore; it just seems that everything stays the same as if on an endless loop. I mean, I should be grateful there has been a significant decrease in bounties. The world is a better place with less crime, right? At least from what the public eye sees. What happens in the shadows is another story. Unless you put a face to a name and announce it on Big Shot, I am not involved. Not anymore. Then how the hell did I get involved with this?! My thoughts scream as I sit in this gaudily dressed throne.

I am Santa Claus. The Inter-Solar System Police or ISSP, where I was formerly employed, suggested I take the gig because it would help me see the good in our police system. I say I'll take the job as a favor I owe, but in reality, it pays and a paying job is needed right now. I guess the Christmas spirit is in the air with the lack of bounties. Maybe people are doing their good deed of the year, or something.

"Santa…Santa….." I hear from far away. Oh that's right, that's my cue.

"Speak a little louder for Santa," I say with as much patience as I can muster at the moment.

"Can you please bring my daddy home? A big, scary man took him away and told my mommy (she pointed to her mother) that daddy would spend Chris—"

"Honey, just tell Santa what you you want for Christmas," covers the child's mother as she rushes over to stop what statement I had already finished in my head: 'Christmas in the slammer." The child's father was either arrested by the police or taken to the station by a bounty hunter. It wouldn't be impossible that Spike or Faye caught the bounty.

"No! I want daddy or I don't want anything!" the little girl screamed as she jumped from my lap and took off into the mall, her mother on her heels screaming for her to stop running this instant!

That is what I had to put up with all day: children running this way and that, screaming, squirming and their parents also shouting, fidgeting and ready to spend money.

The next child walks up to the throne and jumps onto my knee with a lot of enthusiasm. Ow. He appears to be three. With big eyes, he smiles widely at my beard.

"Ho, ho, ho and how are you little…" I give him room to say his name. He doesn't. He just continues to stare wide-eyed. His mother comes close.

"Xavier, tell Santa your name," she encourages her little one with a high-pitched voice that makes me cringe. It drives me insane when parents change their voice to talk to their children; you are not intending to teach your children to talk that way, so why do it to them, your voice will suffice just fine. I'm talking to kids and don't feel the need for falsetto.

"What would you like Santa to bring you on Christmas Eve?" I ask Xavier who may or may not have blinked since he stepped up. With his deer-in-the-headlight gaze, he manages to say "firetruck."

"Santa will do his best to bring you a firetruck," I say with a smile. Nothing. His mother then comes over and picks him up, thanks me for my time and walks over to the woman snapping the photographs to get his photo. Still staring. It is starting to irritate me, but the fact that there is still a tiny spark of wonder in children makes it alright.

The next up is a pair of twin boys. They come up, hand-in-hand and take a seat on either knee. My knees are going to hurt in the morning.

"Ho, ho, ho, and how are you two…" I pause so they can say their names.

"Kevin."

"Steven." They say at the same time. I smirk. Twin synchrony.

"And what can Santa bring to Kevin and Steven?" I asked them.

"I would like—"they stop, both giving room for the other to talk.

"For you to br—" they stop again. I let a small chuckle escape. They are right in sync. Of course they are dressed the same, khaki pants, white shirt and red sweater vests, have the same haircut and look exactly the same to boot. I wonder how their parents tell them apart or if they are exactly their given name at birth.

"Kevin, you go first!" Steven says to his brother, a hint of irritation showing in his voice.

Kevin sighs. "Fine." He looks up at me. "Santa, I want a train. The one with the train tracks and, and, and, it has a tunnel (he makes gestures) and you push it through the tunnel," the child goes on and on. I feel this will take a lot of time and Steven is getting mad, so I cut him off, or at least was about to. Steven beats me to it.

"That's what I was going to say!" he yells at his brother. "We don't have to get the same thing!"

"Well then, you should have went first," came his reply. This was going to get ugly. Now I realize why this was a bad idea; I don't have the patience I once had. It's bad enough I have a kid on my ship who I sometimes wonder what stage of mind they are in with what comes out of their mouth and the other two morons who are way too old to act the way they do; three children. Only three more hours to go.

"Steven, would you like a train or maybe you would like to pick something else," I suggested, my patience trying. I stole a minute glance to their mother who did not seem as troubled as I thought she would be.

Looking at Kevin, Steven says, "I would like a firetruck." Fair enough. "And not the small one that my friend has. I want the one that is big and it is that red one with the ladder and, and, and you can push it real fast (more gestures) and it goes fast," he went on. Kids sure like to make sure you knew what they wanted and used just as many hand gestures as Italian Earthlings.

I cut in again. "Santa will be sure to bring a train and firetruck to Kevin and Steven home," I say to end this.

"Thank you Santa," they say in their twin unison. I point to the camera and they smile widely to reveal missing teeth. After the flash, they get up to leave. Their mother, waiting for them to be out of ear-shot, turns to me and says, "I deal with that all the time. There will be two firetrucks and two trains under the tree for Christmas. Have a happy holiday."

"Happy Holiday," I return as she leaves. I must be tired because I did not notice the next child in line. They were a bit too big to be a child, but had a look that matched the enthusiasm of the other children. I don't know how to react, so I just set my Santa shtick on auto. The teenage girl comes up to the chair dressed in a dark purple winter puffer, but contrasted it with biker shorts. Only Edward…

She approaches me. "Ho, ho, h-…I stop as her face gets very close to mine and she searches my face. Do I just come out and say 'What would Santa like to bring Edward?' or say quietly, 'How'd you find me?' Maybe she doesn't know it is me…? How did this happen? I did not tell anyone (hell no) and left when no one was around. Edward can keep a secret if I asked, right?

"What would you like for Christmas?" I ask. Edward smiles her wide smile.

"Edward would like a stand for her tomato," began the hacker. That would and probably sounded strange to the people around us, but I know exactly what she is talking about. "Edward would also like for the members of Bebop to have a merry little Christmas like the ones Ed had when Ed was a little girl on Earth," she tells me. Aw, shit. I forget Edward is only thirteen and probably wants those Earth Christmases with trees and presents and whatnot. I try to keep my sigh inward. I'll have to do something. Those other two could worry about themselves; no way would they be in the Christmas spirit.

"Santa will bring a nice stand for Edward," I say with a smile. Her knowing or not, I know what to get her and will try to pick one up when it is time for me to go.

"Thank you Santa," the hacker chimes, throwing her puffed-sleeved arms up in the air. I dodge, her arms missing me by mere inches. These kids and their wild gestures. "What would Santa like for Christmas?" What? I stop. Out of all the kids I had today, it was all about them. I don't know what the pre-recorded answer to this question would be…so I repeat it back.

"What would Santa want?...Santa wants all the little children across the galaxy to be happy and enjoy the gifts he receives," I say with a smile. Yeah, that's it. Sounds like a Santa answer to me. She does not look convinced. Thinking it over, I aimed an answer that the Jolly man would probably use: "…Santa also needs warm socks because his feet get cold where he lives and a new hat because Mrs. Claus says he needs a new one." What?! Did that even make sense? Whatever. I contemplate just getting up right now and leaving when Edward's smile brightens.

"All right!" she shouts and jumps off my knee and with arms outstretched, ready to takes flight into the large, brightly lit mall. Ugh, this is not going to end well. Whatever, it pays…..it pays….I just have to keep telling myself that.

The day has finally ended and night has come to discharge me. The line seemed never-ending and the longer they waited, the more impatient and irritated they seem. Nobody told you to come late; the early bird gets the worm. They act like I'm actually going to go get the promised gifts and deliver them. Another internal groan and out escapes an outward chuckle. I stepped in that one… I better head to the department store before they close. They must have shut the heat so close to closing, better to hustle out the shoppers with, my dear. I take out my signature red hat and put it on. It does have a soft and warm quality about it.

The people in the department store do not seem happy at all. They, too, are wearing festive hats and sour faces. Stand strong brothers, this will all be over soon. I go to the tech department. In the corner, I see a set-up of stands for portable computers. The display had a nice, neat appearance, but had flimsy-looking legs. I KNOW for a fact that Edward will attempt handstands on it and even if she is a stick, WILL send the legs tumbling to the ground. It has to be sturdy.

Going over to the next display, I see what appears to be a small table-top. It is thick, with reinforced legs and a small compartment that opens to hold various objects. I smirk, the sturdiness of it almost being made for people like Edward. It must have been created because of someone similar. There are others like her out there; maybe I talked to them today.

After I pay for it, I ask if there is anyone around here still open who wraps gifts; I sure as hell don't know how. I haven't bought a gift for anyone in quite some time. The cashier points to a corner where someone was seemingly organizing wrapping paper tubes by color. That's very…OCD? I approach the wrapper and her head shoots up.

"Hello sir, what can I wrap for you today?" she says with a smile unfitting with the rest of the crew or after such a long holiday season day.

"Yes, I would like to have this wrapped," I say and hand the woman the box containing the stand. She takes it with eagerness and points to the wrapping paper stock.

"Which one would you like me to use?" she questions.

"I don't care," I say simply. "You choose."

"Would you like ribbon tied around it?" she asks.

"Sure, why not?" I say with the same simplicity.

"What color ribbon would you prefer?"

"Doesn't matter?"

"Would you like a bow?"

"I guess."

"Sir, you need to cooperate with me so we can get this done and you can take it to your loved one!" the wrapper says to me with a gritted-toothed smile. Haah, I sigh. This Christmas stuff just gets more and more complicated. She has probably done this all day and knows what goes with what. I'm a man without a clue apparently and she is not helping at all. With my own impatience, I point to a tube of wrapping paper in the middle of the stack, purple ribbon and a yellow bow. She looks at me like I spat on her face.

"Sir, those colors do not coordinate, like at all! How are you going to give an aesthetically pleasing gift with colors like that?!"

"Then you choose the colors since you are such an expert! I have just finished what has probably been the longest day of my life and now I have to get a gift for a child who many or many not karate-chop it to pieces the first ten minutes it is out of the box and now I have deal with someone who will not just wrap the damn thing! Is that too much to ask?!" Her retail smile vanishes. She grabs some wrapping paper, ribbon and a bow in what must be coordinating colors and goes to work, muttering something about Scrooges and naughty elves.

I look around the store and see a few people enter the store and start to slowly browse the wrecked shelves. They receive daggers from the employees. They don't realize the store closes in ten minutes. A snarl snaps me out of my people-watching. I turn to the gift wrapper as she tears the paper off of my stand. "Not good enough!" she shrieks and throws the paper on the ground. Ugh…it looked fine to me. I could have just done the damn thing myself. I am about to say just that, when with a fierce expression, she rolls out more paper (a different pattern) and cuts it with a pair of scissors I think she shouldn't be able to handle right now. I go back to people-watching. The people that had entered previously were trying on hats and snapping photographs. Even I felt bad for the employees now because their night was about to become longer, but they could just have the insane woman over here chase them out.

"Sir, here you go," she says with that returned retail smile as she hands me the wrapped gift with all the ribbons, bows and trimmings.

"Thank you," I say quickly and hastily head out the door.

Peace and quiet at last! I think to myself as I enter my ship. All is quiet. I wonder if anyone is here. The first one to make any loud noise gets it! I just want a drink and a long winter's nap. Damn it! I have been around those Christmas stories and songs all day; it has sunken into my brain. I even had to listen to children recite those stories line by line. Maybe I'll turn on some jazz to tune all of it out. I set the gift on the table and open the refrigerator, when I hear footsteps enter the kitchen.

"Hey Jet," I hear. Spike. I grab the only bottle of liquor in the fridge and bring it out. I am face-to-face with Spike when he gives me a weird expression.

"There is only a little bit left; I am not sharing," I say tiredly. He bursts out laughing. "What is your problem?" I growl. That was when Faye enters the kitchen, decked out in a bathrobe, towel encompassing her hair and a mask of gook on her face. She also bursts out laughing.

"What the hell are the two of you laughing at!?" I growl again, slamming the bottle onto the table. It thankfully does not break because I really need what's inside of it.

"Well Santa…" Spike begins with a snicker. Damn it! Edward must have told these idiots what I have been doing. And after I went to all the trouble of getting the brat a gift! I could just-.

"Does the suit come with that hat?!" Faye laughs. I put a hand to my head and felt the hat I kept on to escape the chill. I quickly take off the hat and put it behind my back. They keep laughing.

I figure a way to end this. I take out the roll of money I had earned and shove it in their faces. "Well, can the two say you earned this lately?" This seems to shut them up. I snatch up the bottle, not bothering to grab a glass because I was going to finish it, the gift and head to my room.

"Who is that gift for?" Faye asks with mild interest. Not you.

"Someone who gives a damn," I say and shut my door. I turn on a bedside lamp and was about to sit on my bed when I see a large candy cane-patterned gift bag on my bed. I peer inside of it to see a bunch of clothes, so I dump it onto my bed. I see various scarves, hats and thick socks of varying shades of blue, green, grey and black. Nothing can stop my grin. I'll have to make this a Merry Christmas now. All I know is I'm not returning to that department store any time soon…

Merry Christmas! ^_^


End file.
